


A Slash Of Red

by bisexualcyborg



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Criminal Masterminds, F/F, Homophobic Language, Murder, Torture, Violence, Weaponised Femininity: The Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-16
Updated: 2015-07-16
Packaged: 2018-04-09 15:42:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,197
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4354712
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bisexualcyborg/pseuds/bisexualcyborg
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jem and Sev deal with a nuisance.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Slash Of Red

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on Tumblr as a fill for my Christmas promptfest, for spatulasinspace.

Jem’s nails make a horrible screeching sound against the hood of the Jaguar. Four silver scratches against glaring red form the initial that makes the entirety of London tremble when they see it. It matches the scar right beneath Sev’s left breast - she likes marking her territory, Jem does. And terrifying people.

When Jem pulls her hand away, her nailpolish - two shades darker than the car - isn’t even chipped. Sev doesn’t know how she does it. 

Sev herself is less elegant. She just takes out her switchblade and slashes the tires, all four of them. It’s not exactly necessary, not a threat to the bloke who owns the car. He’ll be dead in fifteen minutes anyway - half an hour, at most, if Jem wants to play with her food. But it’s a warning to his friends, to the neighbours. Too many men like him live in this neighbourhood, conceited rich blokes who think they’re better than Moriarty. Jem and Sev are here to teach them how wrong they are.

As if reading Sev’s thoughts, Jem waves a playful, clawlike hand at her. “Let’s get to work, tiger.”

The maid refuses to let them in, at first - “Mr Golding is not expecting anyone.” - but Sev just had to twirl her knife between her fingers and she immediately steps out of the way. Jem gives the girl a sharp smile and a pat on the cheek. “I’m quite certain he’s expecting us, dear.”

He is, obviously. His face is ashen when Jem and Sev enter his study, and his hands are shaking so badly that the white star on the end of his Mont Blanc pen draws arrhythmic little arcs in the air.

“I’m sorry, I can explain - ” he starts saying before Jem has even opened her mouth. Bad move. 

“I don’t think you do.” Jem’s voice is ice cold, a disturbing contrast to the skip in her step when she saunters over to the desk. She hops onto it and swings her legs over, propping her feet on Golding’s armrests. She’s all up in his personal space, smiling that blood red smile of hers. 

Sev takes a few steps closer to the desk and pulls her gun out of its holster. If Golding has a weapon hidden somewhere, if he’s not too terrified to try something, he’ll be dead before he can so much as scuff Jem’s gleaming stilettos. 

“No, Daniel, "Jem says, "I don’t think you can explain. I also really don’t think you’re sorry. You know what I think?” Her tone is low, drawly, undeniable menace lurking beneath it. “I think you wanted to play with the big boys. I think you and your friends decided you could do without me, that you could ignore me, and that I wouldn’t be able to do anything about it. Well, I’ll tell you a secret, shall i?” She leans forward, and her gaze seems to pin Golding against the back of his chair. He’s white as a sheet, arms tight against his torso. Jem is revelling in it. So is Sev, for that matter. She loves seeing her boss at work.

“The secret is,” Jem continues, her voice almost a whisper, “that big girls always, always win against big boys.”

Golding apparently isn’t scared enough to act sensible - not that it would make a big difference; he’d end up just as dead anyway. Maybe just a bit faster. 

He splutters, “No, I swear, you’re wrong, I’d never - “

Jem plants a foot in the middle of his chest and pushes. Golding topples over onto his back, chair and all. His head gives a loud thump when it bangs against the wooden floor.

"Shut up!” Jem screeches. Her voice immediately goes calm again. “I’m not interested.”

She beckons Sev over. Sev walks around the desk, stops when her feet almost touch one of the deskchair’s spinning little wheels.

“I’m going to let Miss Moran here have a bit of fun with you,” Jem tells Golding. “And when she’s done, she’s going to kill you. Make an example for all those other big boys.” The contempt in Jem’s voice is palpable. “And I,” she adds, leaning against the desk, “am going to enjoy the show.”

Golding’s has finally realised he will not get out of this. His face is now ruddy with terror and fury. 

"Fucking twisted dykes,” he spits, and Sev would giggle with glee if she weren’t on a job. Now he’s gone and done it.

"Oh, is that it, then?” Jem asks, peering down at him as if he were some kind of unappetising larva. “Were you bitter that you had to obey not just a woman, but a woman who wouldn’t fuck you?” She smirks. “Be realistic, Daniel. No one would fuck you. You’re pitiful.”

She shoots Sev a quick glance, a warning, and Sev nods.

"But since I feel so sorry for you,” Jem says as she looks back at Golding, “we’re going to give you a little show before we kill you.”

She grabs one of the lapels of Sev’s leather jacket and tugs her down for a hungry, passionate kiss. The raw sensuality of it, combined with the adrenaline already racing through her veins, makes Sev’s entire body tingle. But this is a job, and Sev is never distracted on a job, which means she does notice that Jem has angled her left foot so that the sharp heel of her stiletto digs into the fabric of Golding’s well-tailored trousers, right on the seam that runs between his legs.

Golding keens, high and pathetic. The noise gets louder as Jem pushes harder. Sev grins against Jem’s mouth, and Jem’s teeth dig into her lower lip. 

Golding’s keening has almost become screaming by the time Jem breaks the kiss. Sev is panting a bit, but Jem seems utterly unaffected when she says, “Bored now.” 

She doesn’t even look at Golding as she jumps, her dress flaring out slightly with the movement, and lands with both feet on his tibia. It breaks with a sickening crack. Golding screams. The noise is piercing, deafening. Exceedingly satisfying.

Jem doesn’t share Sev’s opinion, apparently, because she says, “Sevita, be a dear and make him shut up, will you? Definitively.”

Sev nods. “Yes, boss.” She flips open her switchblade and throws it, almost carelessly. Golding’s scream ends in a bloody gurgle.

Sev bends over and pulls the knife out of his windpipe. She has to use a bit of force; the knife apparently got stuck in the room’s mahogany parquet floor. Seb wipes the knife on the corpse’s silk tie, flips it shut, and puts it in her pocket. Then, she walks over to Jem. 

“Oh, look at you,” Jem says, still in her cheery murder tone. “I got lipstick all over your face.”

Seb grins at her. “You know I like lipstick marks.”

“You like marks in general, Sev. You like me claiming you.”

“Which reminds me,” she continues before Sev can answer. She takes a lipstick out of her purse and walks back to the desk to draw a big, loopy M on the tabletop.

“There,” she says, recapping the lipstick. “That should guarantee us a little rest.”


End file.
